Ask Back from the Dead

[Hatice Altaris]

[Flashback]​

“You’re late,” said Salvara, dropping his tablet on the desk.

“I came as fast as I could, Don Salvara,” said Nadya, waltzing into the office with a silver pitcher of wine. The wooden floorboards croaked underneath her shoes. The room stank of cigar smoke and spice, but she’d grown used to the smell. Years of serving guests in the bar and translating for visiting Syndicate crime lords had practically shriveled up her nostrils. Such was life in indentureship.

The House of Glass was a rickety gambling hall deep in Axxila’s lower levels, so far down that not even the Sith might have known of its existence. What fresh air that reached into this foul corner of the world was filtered through tangles of corroded pipework, and the only sunlight that touched its streets was artificially made. The underground levels lived in constant twilight, a dark mirror of the wealthy districts above, where Nadya had once called home.

She had gone a long way from the noble Altaris family to the clutches of Don Salvara and his spice cartel. A long way indeed.

As she poured Salvara a glass of wine, she caught him looking at her up and down, like a predator in the wild. Gods, she would have loved to shatter his nose against the table. “Can I help you with anything else, Don?” she asked, hoping he’d dismiss her before he did something he'd regret.

“As a matter of fact, there is.” Salvara swirled his glass. “I have a guest coming in soon. Says he’s come to negotiate a sale of spice. I want you to stick around, keep us company, make sure he feels right at home. Do you think you can do that?”

Nadya pursed her lips. She wanted to refuse, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. Even if she could tear the crime lord to shreds with just a look, what then? Where could she go next? The gambling hall was packed with armed guards and soldiers. She’d be shot to pieces before she made for the door. “Of course, Don. Is it another Syndicate enforcer?”

“Afraid not. I’m not sure where he’s from, but apparently he’s got lots of credits to trade—and we never say no to business.” He smiled, taking another sip of his wine. For some reason, Nadya smiled too.

@Ginger

 

[Hal Mikko]

Mere moments later, the doors of the hall were flung open, and through them strode a man with a briefcase, wreathed in a lavish azure-lined cape that thrashed around him in a phantom gale. For ordinary men, making such a dramatic arrival while being clad in outlandish garb would have made for a gaudy sight. Yet this was no ordinary man - this was Salvador Hardin, the man who made the Kessel run in less than eleven parsecs; outlaw and venture capitalist both. Even those who failed to recognize him were likely struck by the sheer aura of charisma that radiated off of the man. Everything he did oozed style and class. He was literally incapable of being gaudy.

It took all of Hal's willpower to maintain his composure. The last time he'd worked undercover, he'd done so under the measly alias of "Hal Solo" - which, somehow, had failed under scrutiny. Truly mind-boggling. This time around, he'd vowed to take his assignment more seriously, which is why the Knight had spent the past few days building the legend of Salvador Hardin, the man who had personally stolen from Emryc Thorne and lived to tell the tale.

Hal - or rather, Salvador - glanced around the room, shooting the guards a smile so radiant that it would make Emperor Palpatine himself blush. Behind his mirrored shades, the Knight's blue eyes made note of how many armed combatants were present, and what weapons they were carrying, just in case things went sideways. Given Hal's track record as a Jedi, it was a safe assumption to make. Nevertheless, unfettered by the outlaw's charm, one of the guards made their way towards Hal with the clear intent to search him for weapons. That simply wouldn't do.

"That won't be necessary, my friend." Salvador bluffed, his voice a suave tenor that carried no hint of deception. "I am here on appointment with the Don himself - it would have been discourteous of me to come armed." Discretely, he gestured with two of his fingers that held the briefcase, hoping to perform a mind-trick on the guard. If it failed... well, how likely was it that they'd recognize the lightsaber hilt hidden beneath his lavish regalia?

It would certainly be embarrassing though.

@Song

 

[Hatice Altaris]

“Of… course, sir,” said the guard, sounding less sure of himself, but enough to let the Jedi pass. Weak-willed minds were remarkably common in the lower districts, especially in the Salvara Cartel, where brawn always came before brains. On top of that, Jedi mind tricks were so unfamiliar to the Axxila underworld it was like carrying a master key in the back of your pocket. But when it came to the upper levels? That was a different story. This was a Sith world, and Jedi weren’t exactly welcome.

And yet, the guard motioned the man inside and toward a set of spiral stairs nearby the main cantina. “Don Salvara should be waiting on the second floor, behind the door on your right. If you need a drink, feel free to stop by the bar.” The guard gave ‘Salvador’ a dumb, toothy grin before returning to his duties.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Nadya stood by a large window in the room. Neon light trickled through, covering the floor and antique rugs in splotches of green and red. She held the pitcher of wine close to her chest, waiting for their guest to arrive. Could they be trusted? She had no idea. A part of her hoped they’d come to murder the Don, but she seriously doubted they’d have the chance.

Last time a rogue scoundrel had tried it, the four assassin droids situated around the room had descended on them in an instant, littering them with blaster bolts. It hadn’t been a pretty sight, and it was one Nadya was not keen to relive again.

She sighed. Next thing she knew, the ironclad door into the office swung open, a stylishly dressed man striding past the threshold. He wore an absolutely hideous shirt with a loose scarf that screamed ‘tourist,’ and a cape that looked like it was made in a Coruscant sweatshop. Perhaps it was just her rich sensibilities talking, given her parents had clothed her in far more wealthy, fashionable dresses, but even Salvara seemed a little taken aback by the display. Still, the crime lord smiled and tilted his head as if in greeting.

“Welcome, Salvador Hardin. Care for a glass of wine?”

@Ginger

 

[Hal Mikko]

Phew. 'Salvador' shot the guard another million credit grin upon his compliance, and took one last look around the room before following the man deeper into the cantina. Though the gambler's den had a comforting, if not seedy ambience, a wave of anxiety washed over Hal as he began to notice Syndicate enforcers mingling with the local dregs. It was an involuntary response, drilled deep into his psyche during his years as a slave through countless beatings. He found himself thankful for his mirrored lenses - without them, the telltale glint of hatred in his eyes would have been impossible to disguise, but for the most part he managed to maintain his disguise flawlessly.

It wasn't before long that Hal found himself at the stairwell. Turning to face the guard, the Jedi nodded his head in thanks. "Thank you, friend! I'll be sure to make note of your hospitality to Don Salvara." A drink would help to cool his nerves, but the more time he spent out in the open, the more opportunities he'd have to blow his own cover, especially if some Corellian vodka entered the mix. Taking only a moment to deliberate, Hal began his ascent up the steps.

The first thing that Hal noticed in the Don's office wasn't the decor, or even the Don himself. Instead, his eyes found themselves drawn towards the woman standing over in the edge of the room. His shades were mirrored, so it was impossible on her end to know for sure what his gaze entailed, but if she were attuned to the Force she would feel... something. Something that felt like recognition. It certainly didn't bear the same, predatory energy that the Don's stare had previously held. Whoever this 'Salvador' was, there was something more to him than met the eye.

Hal also took a moment to feel embarrassment over his outfit. He noticed the way the woman - and the Don himself - looked at his clothing. The Knight had taken some effort to put together a costume that looked convincing for the role of wealthy scoundrel, but then again, he'd been born into poverty and spent much of his adolescence as a slave. Any knowledge he held of high couture came from outdated holo-tapes. In any case, it seemed to fit the eccentric persona of Salvador just fine.

"Don Salvara, it is truly a pleasure." 'Salvador' bowed his head in respect, taking off his shades to reveal shockingly pale blue eyes, which glanced over once more at Nadya before returning to the business at hand. "I would love a glass, thank you. And I must say, your men downstairs were particularly hospitable. You must be very proud." Then, assuming he'd been offered one, the Jedi made his way towards a seat across from the Don.

"Now, since I have the credits that you've requested..." Hal wrapped his knuckles against his briefcase, his tone ever so slightly more serious than it'd been a moment before. "Shall we begin?"

@Song

 

[Hatice Altaris]

“Why, I appreciate the compliment, Salvador,” said Don Salvara, before he nodded toward Nadya. She had to admit, the two men had eerily similar names and she couldn’t tell if it was pure coincidence or not. There was just something odd about this man. A sensation she could not quite explain. A connection.

She brushed the feeling aside and moved to where ’Salvador’ sat. Reaching over his side, she carefully poured him wine in a tulip-shaped glass, but the connection only felt stronger this close to him. It was like seeing light at the end of a tunnel or a lantern in the dark—except she felt the need to shrink away from it, as if she was some kind of cave animal who lived in the shadows. Was this the Force? It certainly was not the same as the power she’d unleashed back in her family’s penthouse.

“Nadya!” Salvara hissed.

She slammed back into reality. Nadya hadn’t been paying attention and had let the wine overflow in the man’s glass, leaving a small blotch of red on his tunic. A flush crept up her neck. “Sorry,” she murmured, bowing her head before retreating back to her corner. Salvara shook his head angrily. “Clumsy girl. Don’t you know how to treat our guests?” He scoffed and turned to Hardin. “Women, am I right?”

Nadya restrained a sneer. The temptation to splash the wine onto him was almost overwhelming, but she kept her cool, taking low and quiet breaths. A calming exercise she’d learned from her mother. It was the one thing that kept her anger leashed, because for some inexplicable reason, whenever she let her rage get the better of her, something—or someone—tended to pay the price. A broken vase, a cracked window.

There was also the six men she killed that fateful day five years ago, but some memories were better left untouched.

“Now, what were we talking about?” Salvara continued. “Ah, yes. Our deal. If that briefcase has what I think it does, then you can expect two shipments of our finest death sticks. Unmarked, untraceable, and perfectly usable. Enough to last you a lifetime.” He shot the man a greedy smile. Nadya knew what he meant by that. Death sticks were a highly addictive substance that, if consumed too often, could shorten lifespans by years. Why people even bothered to buy it was beyond her.

Then again, judging by the man’s fashion sense, she couldn’t be surprised.

@Ginger

 

[Hal Mikko]

Hal's gaze followed the trajectory of the wine as Nadya poured it into his glass and then, inevitably, as it spilled onto his luxurious shirt. His eyes proved to be just indiscernible as his mirrored shades were. The energy they radiated was that of a blue sky on a winter's day - cool, but not oppressively cold - but enough to feel hostile towards the darkness that lived within the serving girl's heart. "Do not worry yourself my dear, this shirt was out of style anyways." He gave her a brief smile, but when their eyes met his belied an underlying worldliness that hadn't been there before. An edge. It was the first indication that this Salvador wasn't who he said he was, and the look vanished just as quickly as it had arrived.

"Ah yes," The scoundrel chuckled, returning his attention to the Don. "Women." As if the man hailing from a historically celibate Order of warrior-monks was some reigning expert on fraternizing with the opposite sex. "I suspect they'll be the death of me someday. And might I add, what a woman you have with you today... though I suspect you don't keep her around for her, err, talent in serving."

Without further ado, Hal placed his briefcase upon the table and began to open the latches. Within moments, the bright shimmer of credit chips reflected the light of the room towards the Don, so that a gold haze swam across his face as though he were by a pool. He'd coordinated with Sector Ranger authorities to ensure that certain chips were marked, so that any transactions using them would be traced. Nevertheless, they were legitimate."Five hundred thousand credits, two-fifty for each shipment, as agreed upon. BUT..." The scoundrel let the moment of hesitation drag on - a hallmark of practiced showmanship. "I am afraid I cannot leave here without the company of your companion here." His eyes stayed fixed to the Don's, not even glancing towards Nadya as he blithely discussed her fate. Hal figured such indifference was fitting for a man like Salvador. "I am transfixed by her beauty. Name your price, and I shall pay it, but I must insist upon this."

To risk the entire operation on a woman he'd just met was beyond reckless, but Hal sensed an opportunity that he hadn't before. This girl was Force-sensitive - of that he had few doubts - and seemingly untrained. He could not risk leaving her on a world occupied by the Sith. They would find her, someday, somehow, and turn her into a monster. Even if she wasn't to become a Jedi, he couldn't just leave her to the wolves. Furthermore, Don Salvara wasn't the man he was after - he was small fry, in the grand scheme of things; a big fish in a small pond. And there was a bigger fish. Hal would get to that bigger fish, with or without the Don's cooperation. Now was the time to take a chance.

"Or... the deal's off."

@Song